Two people, one who smokes and one who cuts, are described side by side in this short poem. The speaker points out that their habits look different but come from the same place. One is hurt "on the inside," the other "on the out," yet both are in pain and both are hiding it. Long sleeves cover the cuts, and her skin hides the damage from smoking.
The sad twist is that the disguises work too well. Because each covers up so carefully, neither can see that the other is suffering, even though they are so alike. Only their eyes give anything away, saying what their mouths won't. The final lines are the bleakest: they smile as they walk past each other, and nobody would guess that both want to die.
The mood is quiet, heavy and lonely. The short, plain lines feel like a confession, and the poem seems to suggest how isolating it is to hide pain that someone nearby might understand.